Why don’t you come on over, Valerie?

Well, sometimes I go out by myself and I …think about my daddy. It’s funny the things you remember: the highlights of your memory, and the flashbacks that are triggered by certain chord progressions, especially those that are continuously played all over Maceió. Amy Winehouse fills the sound waves here, and hearing “Valerie” takes me to our last jam session in Madrid.

I recently did this journal prompt: what I learned from my parents. And I thought of my daddy (and you, momma, of course!). All his sayings, his catch phrases of sorts, came rushing into my head.


You gotta believe in something
He parked the car at Allentown Presbyterian Church before another rockin’ Sunday service, rubbed his hand over the scar on his leg, and said “I don’t know what I did to get such a shitty hand dealt to me in life, but I do know this: you gotta believe in something.”

Clear your bed
…because you never know when you’re gonna wanna pass out—great advice (seriously though).

Nobody likes a Mr. Messy
Clean up after yourself. Dishes, clothes, anything. Common sense, right?

Show up & be there
Presents don’t matter, but your presence does. Holidays are meant to bring us all together sans the consumerist tendencies of America, and he’s the one who convinced me to head home from Spain for (our last) Christmas together.


That’s Justin! 
Just Incredible. Just in time. Just in case. He’d say ‘just’ is my mom’s favorite word because she preferred it to ‘please,’ and, as he said, it certainly does not mean the same thing. But he most certainly loved to use ‘just’ to emphasize the efficiency and practicality of things.

Be a social drinker
Unforgettable nights with friends and family shouldn’t be the ones you actually can’t remember. Guitars, good people, and just a few drinks.

Buy only what you need
And you don’t need much (especially when you go to the beach). This has become way more relevant navigating adult life abroad—groceries, clothes, and the things I think I need.

Use a small spoon for ice cream
More spoonfuls=more happiness. Trick your mind into thinking there’s more Rocky Road in that bowl.

It’ll all work out
Don’t freak out. Just breathe. It will be okay. Even when you think things are so completely screwed up, know that they will work out.

Pajamas, peepee, teeth, bed
Another super useful tip that has become second nature. My nightly routine remains unchanged.

And so does my undying love for my human, my best friend, and my daddy. Today, I celebrate you and your extraordinary life. It may have been too damn short, but it sure as hell was filled with great laughs, good music, melted ice cream, and sincere, genuine care and love for others. Happy Birthday, Doodle. I love you.

Love,
Keri Berry


Day 1 of Brazil: My Heart is Full

Of inspiration. Of happiness. Of excitement. Of a little bit of nervousness. But, mostly, of love: for new people, places, and prospects. The positive vibes are flowing and I’m feeling like I’ve found another tribe. It’s only the first day of our three-day orientation in São Paulo, and yet I’m already floating on that newness high. Yessssss. 

That was me about a week ago inhaling everything very deeply in São Paulo. And this is me now, laying on my Maceió bed in a fabulously colored pink-and-white apartment three blocks from the beach. Last Friday I flew to my new host city, the capital of the state of Alagoas in the northeast. Excited is an understatement (But srsly, what single word could sum up this feeling that’s much more than excited? Ecstatic? Elated? Energized?).

It is all those adjectives and more. I rocked up to Maceió with little to no expectations (but B’quilla comparisons have been unavoidable). Thus far—approximately six days in Maceió—I’m all about this city. And I’m all about this job (but I haven’t even started #lolz). Living this close to the sea and that oh-so-good ocean breeze is everything. My university is far (“I mean way out there…H, I, J…” – John Pinette’s “I Say Nay, Nay” anyone?), but it’s going to be okay. I’ll live. And I’ll most certainly enjoy the tapioca, açai, running/biking/roller blading on the boardwalk beautifully positioned next to bright blue beaches that won’t be taken for granted.

When Grief Presses Play

Saturday I was in pain. I hardly left comfy seated or horizontal positions and I only stopped crying for the duration of a movie almost as sad as my snowed-in, sad-as-hell day. Outside was changing at a rapid pace, snow piling on top of snow on top of a place so familiar. But I was trapped inside. Inside a familiar place without my person: my dad. A place I call home, but I returned here only to be reminded that it still doesn’t feel like what home should feel like. My dad still isn’t here, and yet I can find him everywhere. I feel him here. It’s subtle but it’s evident. Nothing has changed yet everything has changed. It’s been almost three years. Imagine that? A significant chunk of my life spent without my best friend. I’m still kicking. As they say, life goes on. But what goes on in my head isn’t moving forward. My head’s replaying every life-changing snapshot that my memory keeps on file for whenever grief takes control and presses play. No popcorn, no one else in the theater – just me all by myself watching what my slightly younger self witnessed in real life. 

It’s a lot, I know. To bear the weight of these memories is just as tough as living them. Death is inevitable – unexpected at times – but nonetheless, it’s bound to happen to all of us. Why is it not something we openly talk about? Why do we live as though we are invincible? As though we will live out everything we intend to do? Why do people place their goals, dreams and desires so far in their future? We think we have so much time, but when we consciously think of our eventual demise, we realize just how limited our existence in this world will be. We should be doing everything we say we will. Tomorrow is a new day, a fresh start, but it is completely unpredictable. You can plan ahead, sure, but how far ahead is too far ahead? It’s ideal to map out the future, but I believe it’s even more relevant to map out the now. What are you doing in this moment? What are you working on? What are you learning? Who are you with? Who are you right now? 

I’d like to know why we’re so inclined to think long term. It’s out of our control. What we can do is focus on this very moment, this very day and actually live it. Saturday I was in pain: I focused on it and I lived it. I argued internally with myself. “I could be doing this and I should be working on this.” But I was so damn sad and I realized that I just had to be sad. No, I didn’t deserve to be sad. But grief pressed play and I couldn’t look away. I felt raw and broken reliving what you’d call a ‘tragedy.’ I call it my biggest fear, something that only crossed my mind being physically far away from home. I’d always wanted to have the answer, the cure for my dad’s unexplainable combination of medical conditions. I feared something would happen to him. And something did happen. Something that changed my life and caused me to reevaluate everything; to re-see my surroundings; to re-adjust my perspective. And to re-live that defining moment I’ve already lived and relived and relived. 

I read a piece of advice today that urged readers to reflect on the past and what it has taught them. Most of the time, it said, we overcome challenges and we forget them. I paused. I re-read the sentence. I looked away to stare blankly into my surroundings as grief set my biggest fear in motion, again. My dad’s death wasn’t a challenge I overcame and forgot about, only revisiting it to remember its teachings. It is a part of who I am every day of the week since that Friday in June almost three years ago. In the story of my life, it is the turning point. The tragic event that sets the scene for the rest of the main character’s life. An intermission of sorts with an unforeseen change of events after the curtain reopens. And somehow (thank God), it isn’t the climax. It wasn’t downhill from there. While it has been the steepest uphill battle – with a few (okay, several) teary-eyed days in bed preventing forward movement – it has been an unforgettable reason to continue on. 

I ask all the questions that will hold my curiosity but will never be answered. I experience life from a perishable perspective. I see with new eyes, especially when grief’s in charge of the viewing. I plan for now. It’s all we’re guaranteed to have. 

Chronicles of Chikunbaylor

On Friday, October 23rd I went to the clinic. I usually shy away from white walls and doctors, but I had back pain so severe the previous weekend that it hurt to stand up straight. I had a fever and was profusely sweating in class, even more than I usually do just standing still in B’quilla heat. I had a full body rash for a few days that I originally though was an allergic reaction (sigh, if only…). I had even passed out in the English lab as I waited for my students to show up to class, which they, uhm, didn’t…thankfully #SENA. Something was wrong, so there I was, falling asleep in the waiting room of a clinic. I was called two hours later.

The doctor took one look at me, asked me about my symptoms, and immediately told me I had Chikungunya. Definitivamente tiene Chikungunya. My heart sank as she listed off what I needed to do: take Acetaminophen, rest and drink lots of fluids. And then, I left. I felt crushed. This was the mosquito virus they warned us about on the coast, the one that can affect you for…ever. And all I could do was lay in bed and frame my “incapacitated” days around six hour pill-popping intervals.

I slumped up the stairs to my apartment exhausted to find my roommate jokingly calling me “Chikunbaylor.” I had to hand it to him; it was clever. My sense of humor wasn’t what it usually was, but it was pretty damn funny even if tears were welling up in my eyes.

And then it dawned on me: They didn’t give me a blood test. Commence Chikunbaylor running around to several clinics to demand a blood test. I had to know for sure, especially when I could have recurring muscle and joint pain. I tired myself out going from clinic to Nueva EPS (Colombian national insurance) office to another Nueva EPS office to attempt to make a doctor’s appointment to no avail. I gave up on the national insurance route and decided to give my international insurance a go. I paid out of pocket for a ‘gunya blood test that cost more than my monthly rent. I was in the do-I-have-it-or-not phase waiting for the test results. And it crossed my mind that there was the possibility that it wasn’t Chikungunya, and that I had only paid for a Chikungunya blood test.

I learned a whole damn lot throughout this clinical process. For starters, plan for a day at the clinic — you know, bring food and entertainment. In hindsight, I should’ve been given a blood test during my first clinic visit even if my exhausted, rash-covered self had to wait longer. Apparently, I either had to be hospitalized or make an external medical appointment to get a blood test (another sigh). Acetaminophen can only do so much. My students laughed at me when I told them I got the ‘gunya — they thought that was last year’s disease.

I returned to classes after my blood test. I survived Monday to Wednesday despite waking up with intense back pain on Wednesday morning. Wednesday night, I was in so much pain that tears were streaming down my face. I was covered in as many blankets, well sheets, that I had, shivering cold in 85-degree Caribbean weather. Thankfully — again, #SENA — my Thursday classes were cancelled due to teacher training. I stayed in bed all day, soaking my sheets in sweat without any desire to eat. (TMI?). When Friday morning came, my fever had gone down and I was moving around. Pain was still evident, but I felt a hell of a lot better than I did the previous day.

I felt unsure about my health, especially after a second wave of pain much more intense than the first round. On Friday, November 13th (opportune date, right?), I logged on to my online clinic portal to read that my results were negative: I didn’t have Chikungunya. What?! What the hell do I have then?! My roommate rescinded my Chikunbaylor nickname, of course, and told me I’d get better. I began dialing my mom to express the new medical wall I had hit and to ask what I should do next. No answer. That’s weird. Well, I popped more pain pills and packed my bag for Cartagena’s Fiestas de Independencia with much positive reinforcement from my roommate.

Breathing in deep, laughing and sneezing sparked instant, specifically-located pain in my lower back, and I made it to Cartagena feeling less than my outgoing, positive self. My roommate and I were meeting our friends at our usual gelato shop, naturally. We were sampling flavors and trying to make the oh-so-hard decision when I noticed that my mom was literally walking up to me in Cartagena. A crying, bent over in pain, but very, very happy Chikunbaylor. Man, I had absolutely no idea. And then my mom showed me a photo on her phone, asking if I had seen it. It was a globe sitting on a desk with a post-it note in my cousin Lisa’s handwriting. It said “Out of Office: November 13th-17th.” I repeated the words out of office slowly, looked up at my mom asking about Lisa, and turned to see Lisa in the flesh in Colombia. Man, I couldn’t handle it. I was practically hyperventilating, taking short breaths to lessen the pain, and literally freaking out. I was in shock, and it was such a relief to see them.

So, what did we do? Well, first we got gelato…duh! Then, we went to the clinic to get more tests done. I couldn’t avoid the pain anymore, especially in front of my own mother y’know. I didn’t take my mom and cousin to a regular Colombian clinic to spare them that authentic experience. Instead, I paid out of pocket to get a blood test for Zika and Dengue as well as a check up. The doctor gave me a prescription for antibiotics, pain pills and vitamins, but I had to return tomorrow morning when the lab was open for blood tests. The clinic escapade continued on Saturday as I was poked in several spots to draw blood. We walked the beach in Bocagrande waiting for the results, and I was again relieved that my mom and cousin were so positive and willing to endure this health roller coaster with me in Cartagena.

I found out that I had Dengue, a different mosquito virus with basically the same symptoms as Chikungunya sans the lifelong agony. Finally, a freaking answer! It was reassuring to finally get an answer after about a month of Chikungunya/Dengue insanity. I’m feeling a lot better, and seeing my mom and my cousin had everything to do with that (plus, you know, the pain pills). They completed the Dengue Tour — as Lisa appropriately named it— of the Caribbean coast of Colombia and actually enjoyed it. We were together, I had my appetite back, and, I mean, there’s nothing like seeing your momma when you’ve been the sickest you’ve ever been in your life, no less in a foreign country. And you best believe she brought even more mosquito repellent for good measure.

   

“I want your life.”

I’ve been thinking about this reaction a bit, the “I-want-your-life” reaction I get when I catch up with people from home or post pictures on social media. Quite honestly, my response is emotionally charged. I’ve thought about it until my mind is spinning; I have much to say, yet I still come back around to a simple answer. I firmly believe that we lead our own lives, forge our own paths and determine our proverbial next steps in our distinct, separate journeys. Simply put: If you want to do something, do it. 

It is your life. You perceive your own barriers. This is my life. I looked ahead to my future and decided to do what I wanted. I was determined to go abroad again. I applied to a program, and I went. You make your own way. Se hace camino al andar. 

Jealousy shouldn’t play a role in it. To be jealous of another’s life is to make the assumption that theirs is better, even easier. Each person has their own story, their own unique journey loaded with ups and downs that you might not have the slightest clue about. To say you want my life is to say you want it all: the overwhelming moments of sadness along with those bursting with happiness.

Yes, I upload pictures along the way. I enjoy documenting my time here in Colombia. Some day I’d like to look back to see what I saw and read what I was thinking—good, bad and everything in between. I save the tough moments for my journal, the raw emotions I feel every day. In any given moment I could be feeling lonely or content or out-of-this-world happy.

For the ones who tell me they want my life, I wonder if they’d still feel that way if they saw my everyday life. Living and working abroad isn’t as shiny and picturesque as you think. It consists of routine-esque things and everything (well, almost everything) I’d do back in Jersey, too. I have a work commute. I pay rent. I take the bus every day in sweaty humidity. I wake up mosquito-bitten. I run errands. I cook. I clean.

I have those days just like everyone else. I cry. I sleep late. I have mood swings. I have that f*cking Monday feeling and that TGIF feeling, too. I siesta. I linger in bed. I watch Netflix and eat junk food. I miss my momma. I miss my dad so much it hurts sometimes. I spend hours on FaceTime with my humans around the world. I feel sad I’m not there. I get homesick. I crave home-y comforts. I tear up thinking about who I’d want next to me to share this experience.

I think that we assume others’ lives can be better. We mindlessly scroll through their visuals they post online and we think, “Wow, I wish I could do that.” The thing is, you can. Your time is more valuable than wishing and hoping for things you’ve always wanted. Your dreams are worth more than continuing to place them far in the unreachable future. Your life is now. Choose to live it.